Ch. 10: Paths Leading Nowhere but Down
Back to Arheled '' Under the earth, in the bones of darkness, all ignorant of the autumn world on the skin of the earth, they still journeyed, those six most perilous newly risen, the Children of the Road by Arheled summoned. '' Forest heard it constantly, words like this continuously reshaping themselves, beating in his head like the chant of ancient voices too dim to hear with ears. “We can halt.” Ronnie Wendy said tersely. The others sat down heavily on the ground. The rock was not at all cold; in fact, it was beginning to be disturbingly warm. '' Forth they started, fell feet falling, down stairs enchanted at world’s ending… '' Forest let the voices chant without paying them much heed. He was tired. All of them were. Images of the ways they had trodden pounded slowly through his head. He closed his eyes. Sleep eluded him; his mind was too wide awake, though his eyes were exhausted. The thunder of the rising of the Gates of the North beat through him again, the memory sharp as a movie in his bone-weary state. He slumped against the warm wall and let the memory warp reality. The sizzling hiss of the gateway stopped quite suddenly. They walked down the stairs of stone single file. Hollow footsteps echoed around them. It was uncomfortable: the cheerless air felt dim and healthless, dank, cold, oppressive. The stone stairs curved downward. Forest shivered. Behind them Lara shed a faint light from head and hands, illumining the shaft with a dim cold whiteness. It was fluted and irregular, queer dripstone formations oozing over every knob and ledge. Ronnie was in front: the clump-slop of his hiking boots was distinct even when concealed by a curve. Lara brought up the rear. They had descended like this for hours upon hours. Knees grew tired. Conversation, which had been sporadic at best, flagged into silence; even Bell stopped commenting to Forest and simply plodded on down. The shaft changed constantly, with bewildering variations of striations in the walls and grotesque dripping shapes pendant from them, until the very changefulness became a constant, and amazed no longer. At long last Brooke asked somebody what the time was. Travel pulled out her cell phone and turned it on with the typical Verizon gling ding gong doonk chimes. Ronnie turned and gave her a really odd look. “You took your cell phone ''down here??” he said. “What’re you going to do, call 911 if we get hurt? Or google a GPS?” “The sarcasm is not called for, Mr. Boss.” she said a little stiffly. “I didn’t know we were going underground.” “Don’t give me that. I was perfectly clear about it when I called.” “Well, I don’t have service anyway down here, so that’s kind of a null issue.” snapped Travel. “And I don’t see why you’re so sore about it.” “They can track you by a cell phone, unless the battery’s out.” retorted Ronnie. “And in case you didn’t know, our friend Cornello has control of all the police technology and tracking systems. I don’t know how far underground you have to be for a GPS to stop working, but I’ve heard phones can be hacked to make listening devices or even cameras. I’ll bet the hacking devices would still work down here, service or no service, even without a GPS.” “Oh.” said Travel, chastened. She unplugged her battery and put it in her pocket. “And here I thought you the techno-idiot of the group.” “Comes from watching ''Jason Bourne '' and Abduction.” “Are we going to have to sleep on this stair?” complained Bell. “Unless some of us have bed-making powers, it certainly looks like it.” said Ronnie, looking at his watch. “We’ve been underway for seven hours. I think we’ll rest here, then keep on for a while.” “Until we drop.” “We have four thousand miles to go,” he retorted. “I do want to actually get there by Halloween.” “And the forecast was for 80s this weekend.” moaned Brooke. “I wanted to go swimming.” “So, if we get to a flat cave, fill it up and jump in.” remarked Travel. “Ha ha.” “On the bright side, if we get to a straightaway, I can teleport us as far as I can see.” Travel added. They fell still after that. In the great silence of the endless tube of stone, the throat of some horrible beast, any joke seemed feeble, an attempt at unfitting behavior, which the cold stare of the cave withered as soon as it was made. Some nodded and slept, or tried to, knowing rest was needed. Forest found himself holding his breath so as to make no sound. All too soon Ronnie roused them and nagged them until they were up and moving. “I swear, he’s as bad as a drill sergeant.” grumbled Lara. “Well, somebody has to get us going.” said Bell. “Still, who put him in charge?” “Will you just shut up and start glowing so we can actually see something?” “Hey, snip, I’m how many years older than you?” “If age is the question,” cut in Ronnie, “I outrank you all. I’m 31. Now fowaaard-maaarrch!” and he began acting so annoyingly military on purpose he made even Lara start laughing, then joined in and went back to normal. Down and down and ever down the stairs twisted, now bending left, now right. The stalactites were bigger now, and more numerous, and even the previously clear steps became bumpy with dripstone, like ice in winter, but brown rock ice. And the stone icicles grew long, hanging so low the company often grazed their heads; and lower still, until they nearly touched the stairs and passing them was like squeezing through a forest of stone trees. “This’ll take us ''forever!” fumed Lara. Using her Cold powers, she broke a way down, and they spiraled on for some distance. Then the pillars thinned, and light grew in the cave, and Lara no longer needed to glow. A luminous waterfall roared out of a hole in the floor. The waterfall was falling up. “What the heck….” whispered Travel. “A fountain, of course.” Ronnie answered. “There must be some pretty intense pressure here. Brooke, ask it the way down.” They were in a level chamber. Brooke’s eyes flickered sea-green and then brown. “He says the way is over there. He says our path lies through the buried city.” “He?” said Lara. “That’s what it feels like.” said Brooke helplessly. The mouth of the stair thus indicated was a wavery opening in the left wall. It grew dimmer as they left the fountain farther behind, and Lara had to shine again. The second stair was so steep they almost fell down it. Here the air was dry, the dust on the floor dry also, though it had lain so long it was more like carpet than powder and little rose at their tread. Very old were these stairs, hewn into the living rock so long ago they now were fractured and fissured, and the company stepped down them with care. Balustrades had once been carved out of the sides of the narrow passage, but much of them had long since broken off and fallen. These stairs did not twist and wind everlastingly as the others had. They dropped in straight flights, interrupted by landings. Sometimes doorways yawned at these, blocked some way within by earth and stones. “Soil?” exclaimed Brooke. “I thought we were miles down!” “Perhaps this fell down by a chasm or stream.” said Ronnie. “But I think not. I think this place was once far nearer the surface.” They began finding more and more evidence that he was right. The sunken halls became successively more ruinous, great cracks and webbed fissures in the carven walls opening up. In one place the angle of descent suddenly changed, the stairs down-slanting and far steeper. They halted in dismay. “I can get down that,” said Ronnie, “but what about the rest of you?” “Don’t worry about us.” said Lara. Ice built up on every stair as a silver-white glow flashed in her eyes. Rough ice at that, so that if they were careful they would not slip. When they came at last to the bottom, they gazed blankly. Cracked stairs and chunks of dislocated hall led up, or down, or sideways, in a disordered chaos. To left and right were doors, and level stone halls, straight but narrow and littered with dusty rubble. It was faintly warmer. The carvings however had lasted better, and both doors were bordered with elaborate vertical flutings, from which whorled hooks curled out. Their arched lintels, however, bore odd decorations like chicken-scratches in the stone. “Brooke!” said Ronnie suddenly and sharply. “Hose these doorposts clean! Those are inscriptions!” Brooke shot a jet of water from one finger, spraywashing the dust and coated grim of countless ages from the dry stone. When wet it gleamed with queer and lovely colors, hues only Forest knew names for: saffron and vermillion, and mauve, and cerulean blue. The scratches proved to be graven deeply, queer angular symbols like an archaic Norse border. “These are runes.” said Ronnie in an awed voice. “Well, for all the help they are, they might as well be in Chinese.” snorted Lara. “Aren’t runes Teutonic?” asked Brooke. “Not these.” said Ronnie, eyes gleaming. “These aren’t Germanic. These are Angerthas.” “Either way, it won’t help if you can’t read them.” commented Lara. “Unless you packed a Runic ABC!” “I don’t need one.” said Ronnie. His eyes shed a faint red reflection on the wet stone. He began to puzzle them out, slowly, haltingly. “Anyone got a pencil?” he asked. A chorous of “no”, “nope,” “what do we look like, writers?” and so on followed this request. Forest produced the paintbrush. “Handy thing, that.” commented Ronnie. “Let’s see…” Forest painted on the stone of the wall the values of the runes as fast as Ronnie read them out. They all stared at the final result in mounting dismay: ornavanaldarsilalungaarraaka andovanolweanarkiarraak kuluwenyalasseesilapollontuntillo veiniquesemtintillyema '' That doesn’t even make sense!” wailed Travel. “It’s all run together, silly.” said Lara impatiently. “But it’s still in some unknown language. Not Spanish, of course…a little like Latin, but too flowery somehow…” “Elvish.” said Ronnie wearily. “You mean that made-up language from Lord of the Rings? But how’d it get all the way down…?” ''“Tall fair trees shall bend and break '' ''Long fair limbs will rend and snap '' ''Gold-green leaves shall limply tumble '' ''As the snow upon them trembles.” '' Ronnie said in a strange dreamy voice. “That’s what it means?” said Bell. “Do you actually '' speak Elvish?” Brooke exclaimed. “That’s all?” exploded Lara. “All that, and it’s just '' poetry''??” “Did you expect it to say, ‘To go below take a L and 2nd passage?” Ronnie said with heavy irony. “Of course '' it’s poetry. But you can bet they carved it there for a reason.” “Yes, but is it any help to us?” pressed Lara. Ronnie rubbed his forehead. “It’s about time to camp. We’ll spend the night here. Do you want to open Arheled’s food, or use up our normal human food first?” “You’re the only one who packed anything extensive.” Forest wasn’t listening to the others. He had already begun digging into his pack. The first day they had all discovered their packs contained, as Arheled promised, an old tin pail and a sloshy waterskin-bag. His had held peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches at lunch, but a cheeseburger at supper, with banana for dessert. Now when he opened it there was a steaming Styrofoam cup (and fork) full of beef stew, and all the space around was packed with cookies. “You too?” said Bell. “Mine had cake. Trade frosting for a cookie?” Ronnie called him over after they had eaten. The second door was still untranslated. As before, Brooke hosed it clean and Forest painted Ronnie’s translation. He wasn’t surprised when the result was another mishmashed jumble, but Ronnie did surprise him by saying it was not Elvish. “What is it, then?” “I don’t know.” Ronnie grumbled. “Could be Westron or Aduniac—it has that harsh slashing feel. But I can tell you what it means.” “You—“ ''Translate by your revealing-power? Cool! '' “It is, sometimes.” Ronnie agreed. “This is what it says: ''Of old was an age when was emptiness '' ''there was sand nor sea nor surging waves '' ''unwrought was Earth, unroofed was Heaven '' ''an abyss yawning, an ancient chaos.” '' “This is the way that we must go.” said Forest. “Yes, the mention of ''chaos—clear enough, I should think. Sounds similar to the Voluspa. But I doubt they read it, the ones who carved this.” Sleep came slowly. The stone was hard and soon Forest ached all over, but he was tired, and at last his body let go of the living world. He walked down endless gleaming caves, and around every corner he kept catching a glimpse of a sedate slow-pacing queen in pearl-white, long luminous hair gleaming gold behind her. But he never caught up. He sat up, stiff and deadly cold. Ronnie was shaking the others. The cave looked unchanged, the deserted halls still deserted. Then he realized there was a difference: he could see everything around him, yet everything was dark. “You mind giving us some light, Lara?” said Ronnie. Then it actually did get light in there—brighter, that is. I can see in the dark, Forest realized. The others gathered their things, grumbling and groaning, but oddly their shoes spread a steady strength up their legs as they walked. Nobody was hungry right then. Ronnie took them under the second arch and they left the hall behind. They hadn’t gone far before they came to a fissure that split the floor. Forest could see the sides going down for an eternity. Across the gap was a dead-end: the roof had collapsed, and the stone had buckled inward. “This is gonna be a good one.” said Ronnie. “How on earth are we getting down that?” “I don’t suppose anyone brought a rope?” Does that thing even have a bottom?” the others were all saying at once. “Silence!” Ronnie shouted. “How many superpowers do we have here, anyway? I should think we can handle it.” “Oh, please, gimme a break.” “Here he goes again with the boss mode.” “Silence.’ What does he think this is, a movie?” Ronnie’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Somebody has to be in charge, guys.” he protested. “We can’t just keep blundering along in a group.” “He’s right.” said Forest. The girls all turned and stared at him. “You have to have a leader.” “Oh, and I suppose you want an election!” said Lara sarcastically. “Boys.” said Travel. “Always want to be bossy.” said Brooke. “Hey, he’s my brother, quit picking on him.” said Bell. “Okay, are there any candidates?” said Ronnie, talking very loud. “Will you stop being so bossy?!” Brooke exclaimed. “Yeah, it’s not like Arheled made you king or something.” Travel said irritably. “Really, Ronnie, you have got to stop being so controlling.” said Lara in a lofty voice, as if she was fifty years his senior. “Rude.” said Bell. Forest’s eyes glittered with a brilliant green light. “Quit picking on him!” he roared. “Who put you girls in charge, might I ask?! What gives you the right to put us down?!” There was dead silence for about five seconds. Then the older girls were shouting at Forest, and Brooke was being condescending, and Bell was looking from one to another with a flabbergasted expression, while both boys stood half-crouched, fists clenched, red and green fire burning in their eyes. “If that’s the way you want to do it…!” “You boys should just shut up. Okay? It’s not like you have any real powers.” “Is everybody going insane?! What is wrong with you?!” “Hey, unless you jerks have more power than we do, just tag along and don’t boss us!” “If you want to settle it this way, then…''.so….be…it.” hissed Ronnie Wendy. “But Ronnie—you don’t have any powers—“ whispered Forest. Lara was turning blue. Green and blue light built up in the eyes of Brooke and Travel. Red lightning sparked about the head of Ronnie. '' “I am Ronmond Wendtho.” '' he said in a voice suddenly as deep and powerful as the stone on which they stood. '' “I am the Hill of the Road. If you think you are stronger than me, come then and face me!” '' Lara said no word. From her hands blazed a beam of intense white, cold mingled with the power of light itself. Ronnie’s hand lifted, palm open against her. And the beam of her power died and expired on his hand. “You are the Star. There is a power in the earth that the Stars cannot touch. That is my power. I am the Hill, and the hills answer to me!” The blue light of Travel’s power encompassed Ronnie. Suddenly it broke as she reeled, screaming. Green mist was coming from Forest’s mouth, a steady wind forcing her back. Tears poured from her eyes: he was summoning the essence of onion. The pale boy summoned up choloform powers from sea algae, and Travel Lane collapsed, unconscious. Instantly Forest cleared the air: too much exposure had been known to be fatal. Brooke sent water fountaining at him, but he vanished and she could not find him. Bell was screaming at everyone. Brooke lent her power to Lara’s, and it too expired, the water having no more effect on Ronnie than the Cold-power. “Don’t you know that water comes out of the earth?” he roared. Forest, invisible, sent the green mist around their heads. Both girls crumpled. Breathing hard, Bell, Forest and Ronnie stared at one another. “That was creepy.” moaned Bell. “What got ''into you guys?” “Whose side are you on, Bell?” said Ronnie. “Must we fight you, too?” “Oh, right, like I have any powers.” she retorted. “I didn’t start this, I’ll have you know.” “We really need a leader.” muttered Forest. “Even if we had one, this sort of thing would still happen.” said Ronnie. “A leader cannot lead the rebellious. Forest, wake them up. It is time for them to choose.” “Are you sure you want me to?” the boy said dubiously. “The risk has to be run. They are our sisters of the Road, after all. Bring them round.” Forest pulled out his paintbrush. “What are you doing?” exclaimed Ronnie. “Painting a way down.” the boy answered. His brush moved and swirled through the air. A hovering platform appeared above the abyss, with seats and handles. Upon it he painted images of the girls, buckled in. They vanished, reappearing tied in place. Greeny-white mist floated around their heads. “They’ll wake up slowly.” he said. The remaining three stepped onto the platform. It began to sink rapidly into the depths of the chasm. The eddying mists of light from the battle fell behind and it grew completely dark. Forest waved his paintbrush and a lantern appeared. By its’ light they could see rock walls, pale pink and yellow, flashing by like a river. “Uuhnng.” groaned Lara. “I feel terrible.” said Brooke. “My head hurts.” complained Travel. “How are you feeling?” said Ronnie gravely. “Just awful. What happened?” said Brooke. “I have the strangest impression we were trying to kill Ronnie. Was I dreaming?” asked Lara. “No.” said Ronnie very quietly and grimly. “Oh gosh.” said Lara. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” said Travel, alarmed. “We didn’t, like, hurt you, did we?” “The Hill of the Road is not easy to kill.” he said. “In case you’re wondering, the contrivance is Forest’s work.” “Um…thanks, Forest.” said Lara meekly. Forest made no sign of acknowledgement. He and Ronnie stared grimly at the girls. “There’s still an issue to decide.” said Ronnie. “Who is in charge? If you girls are in a rational state of mind, we’d best settle that now.” “I still don’t like being bossed.” muttered Lara. “It is a good point, though.” said Travel. “I mean, say we’re attacked. Who does what? We’d end up haywire.” “I nominate Lara.” said Brooke. You would, thought Forest. “I nominate Ronnie.” he said aloud. “Anyone else running? Or is this going to be a Pirate King sort of vote?” said Brooke. “A what?” said Lara. “Y’see,” said Ronnie in a Captain Barbossa voice, “election must be by majority vote, and every pirate votes only for himself.” “Is that out of some movie I never heard of?” “Your fault, you should watch more of them.” ribbed Brooke. “That was Pirates of the Caribbean.” “Well, I’m not out for leader.” said Travel. “Me either.” said Bell. She shot a mischievous look at her brother “I think Forest should lead.” “What??” he exclaimed, appalled. “He’d be great! He’d just say nothing and we can do whatever!” crowed Bell. Forest waggled his paintbrush at her. “I vote for Forest.” said Ronnie, grinning. “Traitor.” Forest muttered. “Okay, seriously: All in favor of Forest?” said Ronnie, and raised his hand. So did Bell. Nobody else. “All in favor of Lara?” The three older girls shot up their hands. Bell sat on hers. Forest and Ronnie made no sign. “I know how this is gonna go.” Ronnie muttered. “All in favor of me?” He raised his own hand and grinned. Forest’s hand went up. Bell’s hand went up. “Traitor!” Brooke accused. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to kill Ronnie, okay? We owe him something.” Travel shrugged. “All right,” said Ronnie, “we have a tie between me and Lara. What should we do?” “Fight it out?” giggled Brooke. “We tried that.” said Lara. “Yeah, who won in that, anyway?” Travel wanted to know. “Forest did.” said Ronnie. “He gassed you with plant-essence.” “I guess we’ll just have to revote.” said Brooke. “There’s no need.” said Travel shyly. I change my vote. I’ll vote for Ronnie.” “Hey!” growled Lara. “I figure he’s just going to boss us around anyway, he might as well do it legit.” “No hard feelings, all right, Lara?” said Ronnie, holding out his hand. For a moment Lara looked like she might refuse. Finally, and reluctantly, she gave Ronnie her hand, not meeting his eyes. The platform slowed and came to a stop. “Looks like we’re at the bottom.” said Ronnie. They unbuckled the straps and jumped down lightly. It felt warmer here. They stood in utter darkness, but when Lara tried to glow, she illumined nothing. Behind them Forest unpainted the hovering platform. “Forest, what do you see?” said Ronnie. “I see a high hall,” Forest said slowly, “wrought with power, the stone walls spelled, though with pressure they buckle. Groins rise to great stone knots upholding the roof. The stone is carved like curling leaves, detailed, folding. On the far wall runes are written.” “He can see in the dark??” said Lara incredulously. “I’m not surprised.” said Bell. They walked through the strange unseen hall. Their feet raised booming echoes that rolled away muttering in the roof. At the far wall Ronnie halted. Lara was able to illumine the inscription, but to everyone’s surprise Ronnie no longer had Forest paint the translation on the wall, instead reading straight from the runes: '' '' “The leaden clouds did the earth enshroud '' ''And rain fell raw and grey '' ''The sere sad leaves on the malvorn trees '' ''Bereft of red were they. '' ''A crusted yellow and a bronze unmellow '' ''And a green fading away '' ''And the swollen streams did shake bridge beams '' ''With sullen flood all grey.” '' A curious chill fell upon them at those strange sad words, so befitting the autumn this year had brought. Travel was shivering as they pressed on. This led them to the mouth of a grey tunnel, the rock of which smelled queer and vinegary like the Lost Caves. It slanted sharply downward, the broken floor bereft of dripstone: granite reigned here. The walls were visible in their own light, but it was not a pleasant light: a pale blueish purple, it reminded them of the queer dots of evil light from phosphorescent decaying things they had sometimes seen in night forests. A sad and faintly fetid air rose up from the pale depths. As they went farther the floor became less broken, until they were upon an ancient stair, many steps still shattered or dislocated, but still steps. Hours passed again as they wended down. Ever the rancid coolness of the air pressed on them. The passage was higher now. Sometimes they passed through great sunken rooms long since fallen under the earth, and at other times would find themselves on a fragment of cobbled street, soon buried or broken off. Other ruins Forest saw in the shadows of the great rents in the wall; as if entire cities had sunk beneath the earth, broken, buried yet still whole and hollow. “Awake, fear, fire, foes, awake.” Ronnie’s voice teased. Forest slowly became aware of his surroundings. The others were wearily getting to their feet. All of them jaded and tired; if not in body exactly, due to the magic shoes of Arheled, certainly in mind. Ronnie was as tired as any of them, to judge from the lines under his eyes, but he still got them up and going. “What day is it?” Forest said. “The 17th of October, as best I can figure it.” Ronnie answered. “I have no idea how far we are, either.” Miles were hard to estimate when Travel teleported everyone whenever she could see ahead. It was several days since they had begun encountering the ruins, that much Forest was certain. He plodded on, the strange inscription they had translated yesterday—or was it the day before?—still throbbing in his head. '' '' ''From the South shall come the giant of old '' ''and shield of stone before him hold; '' ''the Serpent that the world doth bind '' ''in towering wrath shall him unwind '' ''and move the Circled Seas profound '' ''till all is loosed that once was bound. '' ''Then Surtar from the South shall fare '' ''and tree-devouring fire shall bear; '' ''the hills of stone shall bend their heads '' ''all men the paths of death shall tread, '' ''and from the cloven heavens all '' ''the gleaming stars shall flee and fall '' He knew these inscriptions were not random. Whoever had carved them in various ages of the past, some hand had guided them, some one had whispered to them: they were left there as signs, as warnings and as guides for the Children of the Road. As they marched on, down the sloping street with the petrified houses emerging from the walls, Forest was aware that at last there was a change. Air was moving. They rounded a curve and found themselves on the edge of a great rambling chamber. Huge roots of stone upheld the distant roof. Piers of rugged shape split up the cave into long winding sections. A faint sad light filled the air. And upon the cavern floor was a city built of stone. As if it had slid down for fathomless miles, shedding parts along the way, before finally resting here, that city seemed. Angular houses, with triangular peaked roofs and columned porches, houses whose very beams were long cut stones, filled the silent streets. There was a sad and awful grandeur about them that seemed somehow both lofty and harsh, like a city of cold kings who had fallen into dark ways. It mounted steeply up the walls, houses tilted perpendicular to the ground, till they fell in and only foundations mounted the walls. The very sight of it filled all six of them with dread. “Do we have to go through that?” said Lara. “Unless you want to bore a shaft straight down, yes.” Ronnie answered. “I don’t like it.” said Forest. ''It has an evil look. Down the shattered streets they picked their way. Travel offered to teleport them but Ronnie shook his head. “Remember that dream Forest had.” he said. Forest winced; he had almost forgotten it. He wished everyone else would, too, but Ronnie had read it in his mind and judged it important enough to tell the others about. He had been standing on a high shelf above a bowl-shaped land. Below him a ruined city lay, like a pancake dropped into a bowl, silent and dead; but above it was a curious sky of tossing streaming red, equally quiet. He knew he had to go down there, but he stood on the shelf, delaying as long as possible. In the very middle of the stone city, the lowest point, lay the passage he had to take; but like ghosts and ancient shadows, he felt rather than saw that the old houses were haunted by things for which he had no name: creeping shapes of formless fear. The city below was not much like the one in his dream. The odd high-pointed shapes of the once-beautiful houses and the curving spires of innumerable turrets, as well as great palaces and mansions more or less collapsed, were pale and silent, but not brooding with dead malevolence. The broken walls they passed concealed no shadows of dread. And yet he felt, and knew the others felt, that the place was somehow essentially wrong. A clattering sound from the streets below made them all jump: but it was only some crumbling outwork, no longer able to sustain its’ own weight, perhaps, now fallen to pieces. Ronnie came to a sudden halt. Scrawled, as it were, on one of the rough faces of decaying masonry from which all polish had long since crumbled away, were scratched letters in the stone. Curling letters that formed a beautiful yet archaic script. “I know those!” exclaimed Brooke. “Yes,” said Ronnie, “they are tengwar, the Elf-letters in the Feanorean script. Primitive graffiti, perhaps? I doubt it. These were traced here long after the city’s sinking, or they would have crumbled with the polish.” He rubbed the stone surface with his hand; round grains fell away like sand. “Marble, I’m guessing. I’ve seen them go to sugar like this in old cemetaries after acid rain got at them. Was it abandoned before it sunk below? Or was it merely falling to ruin?” “I thought acid rain was caused by pollution.” said Brooke. “Do you seriously think we’re the first civilization to invent poisoned smoke?” said Ronnie dryly. “Even in the Third Age Saruman was doing it. How do we know what ancient peoples might have burned?” “But what does it say?” said Brooke. “Shehánotís dhormí dormbo antha Senyartha '' ''Esnon vendon nemh vind verlengenaes sentha '' ''Porthou ponsen nemh ens enhí olms tívinda '' ''Enhye inthintan fark nemhí olmes enarmbaen '' ''Enardgrogenes flithen enhar thes daon '' ''Emta Londo dachaldesûs tíar land hye.” Ronnie murmered. “That does not sound like Elvish.” said Bell. “Nor is it.” said Ronnie. “It’s Arheled’s tongue. The one that the Password of the Doors of Night used. You know, venda and Arheledenvendonwendo? This is what it says, as best I can fit it into English.” He began to recite in a mournful dreamy voice: “Unhappy is men’s lot in Middle-earth '' ''Who never can they see the seasons pass '' ''Save when they lift their heads to look around '' ''And rest a moment from their toil long '' ''Before they bow their heads and labor on '' ''And the years flicker on and are then gone '' ''Until God takes us to our long and lonely rest.” '' “That is so…pensive.” said Brooke. “So melancholoy. It’s almost like a dying man’s lament.” “More of the moan of the man who has to work and has no time to appreciate or notice the season around him.” murmered Ronnie. “I have felt it too, that wistful sorrow. Who wrote it here, I wonder, in the long and distant days before the city sunk into the earth?” They proceeded on downhill in silence. Around them the dead city was utterly quiet. Not even the trickle of water came to their ears, and their shuffling footsteps on the earthen dust of the sloping streets made harsh loud echoes in the walls. As they went farther down the slope lessened, until the houses no longer looked like dislocated growths jutting at an angle from the ground but merely tilted. What bizarre geologic phenomenon had caused the city to slid intact this far down was something nobody could explain. “Unless it never slid.” speculated Bell. “Maybe the earth folded upward around it. Like when you close a book.” In the dim twilight that lit the broken city, the windows of the cracked houses with their round arches looked like mournful eyes. There were no doors; either they had fallen out or had long since rotted away. Inside it was utterly black to the others, but to Forest it was merely dim. “Forest, what do you see?” Ronnie said. “Motionless shapes, hard to label; figures they might be, or household idols—they have a hostile look. They do not move. But something about them feels.” '' Feels unright. Feels bad. '' “Unright and bad.” Ronnie finished for him. “I felt it too. We should avoid making noise.” So they advanced through the silent city. High proud houses filed past them. Dark-eyed doorways and windows watched them. The air was probably warm enough, but it felt cold; a cold more of the heart than the flesh. It smelled dusty and stony, somehow. The sharp turrets and broader towers stood wan against the lead-blue, overhanging shapes of the far stone roof, like a hovering unmoving sky. “Here.” Ronnie said softly, pointing to a huge shard of tumbled masonry, lying intact upon the road: more Elven letters could be seen, these ones not scratched but graven deeply, showing no erosion: this must have been an interior wall. Above them was a tottering palace: the buildings had grown grander and more magnificent the farther down they went, and the street was broad and paved with flat square slabs set as skillfully, once, as if they were poured concrete; though sadly broken and tilted now. Nothing grew in the cracks, not even litchen or the sunless fungi of underground. Ronnie read aloud, '' '' '' “The Great Gods then began their toil, '' ''the wondrous world they well builded. '' ''They hall and hallow high uptowering, '' ''gleaming-gabled, golden-posted, '' ''rock-hewn ramparts reared in splendor, '' ''forge and fortress framed immortal. '' '' '' ''Unmarred their mirth in many a court, '' ''where men they made of their mind’s cunning; '' ''under hills of Heaven on high builded '' ''they lived in laughter long years hence. '' '' '' ''Dread shapes arose from the dim spaces '' ''over sheer mountains by the Shoreless Sea: '' ''Friends of darkness, foes immortal, '' ''old, unbegotten, out of ancient void. '' ''To the world came war; the walls of Gods '' ''by giants beleaguered; joy was ended.” '' Forest as he listened caught a faint motion in the corner of his eye. He did not turn. He knew perfectly well that if he did he would see nothing. The stir in the darkness ended even as Ronnie ceased speaking. “I like that.” said Bell. ''“Old, unbegotten…ooh, gives me shivers. What was it about?” “In the Norse,” said Ronnie, “the void begot everything. The river that flows in an endless circle around the flat world piled layers of rime at its’ edges; and the rime blinked, and rose to its’ unimaginable feet, Ymir the first of the Frost-giants. The Gods he budded off of his feet, and the Giants from his hands; and he hated the Gods for their perfection of being while he was monstrous, and when he came against them, they overthrew him. “From his bones of rock they forged the earth; from his crystal skull they built the Sky; from his water-blood they poured the Seas. I can’t remember how they were supposed to have made the Sun, or the Moon for that matter; they just refer to the heavenly bodies as being adrift, likely as old as the world. But I do know that from the leftover material, in answer to the Giants, they forged the Dwarves, Durin chief, and gave to them runes of power to fight with the giants.” “So the giants…” “The Gods are wise and take thought for men; the Giants hate, seek to hoard and all else destroy, and if ever they build a dire price drive they. Yet in the end the Giants will be aided by the Damned and by the various Monsters of evil: the Wolf Gram and the Midgard Serpent, and will amass such power as to cast down the Gods themselves. Against this day the Gods hoard heros, that somehow by some chance they may yet bring something out of the doom that is certain to befall them. Though the '' Voluspa'' does look beyond the end of the world, to a day of remaking, it may well be inferred that this is a later development in Norse thought, influenced by rumors of the new creed in the south, and not part of the old tales at all.” “Those Gods sound like Arheled.” said Bell. “Oh, they weren’t much alike, no.” said Ronnie. “More like a cross with the Wild Man. Rough, almost barbaric, wise but brutal, often faithless: not a canny bunch by any means. I prefer Tolkien’s version.” The streets by now were completely level. The stone buildings tilted no longer. Majestic they were, towering hundreds of feet, airy and graceful. Many of them stood above the streets on vast curving pylons, arched like the roots of some formalized tree, extending beyond the base. Crystal panes—not glass, even Travel could tell that—glinted sadly in their numerous windows. But all the carvings were gargoylic in nature; well done but grotesque, expressions of woe or evil glee or a vast unfathomed sadness dominating their trollish faces. Every door was so framed by countless curving patterns as to resemble ancient mouths, frozen open. And in the depths of those rooms the darkness was unstill. “How are we going to know which way is down?” said Lara. An undertone of brittle anxiety belied her snappishness. “It’ll be the one place they try to stop us from reaching.” said Ronnie grimly. “They?” quavered Travel. “Can’t you feel them?” murmered Ronnie. “They do not move, but they are there, and they know that we are aware.” The girls said nothing, but pressed closer together the farther they walked. Ahead the straight street divided around a dark edifice: a triumphral arch, two massive posts of masonry and a single high arch, turrets crowning it. But where that arch should have shown through it the silent street running beyond, there was an opaque shadow. And in that shadow reflections flickered, as if a subterran fire was reflecting off the very darkness itself. “That is the way.” said Ronnie in a heavy voice. “Yes,” said Forest faintly, “that’s the opening I felt in my dream.” Lara’s flesh began to turn blue and her eyes gleamed like diamond flames. In the eyes of the others light began to glimmer in many hues, red and violet, green and blue. “Forest and Lara, face the rear.” ordered Ronnie in the cold voice of one preparing for battle. “Brooke, keep your eyes on the left. Travel, the right. We’ll skirt the buildings. Beware the doorways.” “I could just teleport us.” she said. Before Ronnie could answer, a blinding light erupted in front, between them and the arch. Brooke and Bell and Travel howled and covered their eyes; and their hands became transparent, and their lids became trans[aren’t for the sheer brilliance of the glare. Ronnie alone did not flinch, did not even blink. His revealing-power would no longer permit anything to obscure his eyes, save only darkness. And giving off that light he beheld a yellow dragon. '' “Light-dragon!”'' his voice, swelling suddenly to a titanic boom, rang in that silent tomb like the end of the world. “I can see you. Your glare cannot hide you.” '' The glare was switched off. Forest had painted welding-goggle visors around all their heads, save Ronnie’s; and the girls were recovering. Between them and the gate, shockingly brilliant in that dim blue and grey place, coiled a gigantic dragon all bright yellow and gold. Its’ features were feminine and intelligent. When it spoke, Brooke gave a little gasp: the voice was a girl’s, though with an overpowering brilliance of tone. “You have good eyes, kiddo. But not good enough to save you.” The world was swallowed in blinding whirling light. It sliced down upon them like blades of burning steel, both solid, sharp and hot. The wrists of all six Children lifted of themselves. Upon their hands the queer tattoo-like stains glowed white. Shields of white energy broke every blade, and stabbing lances of white pierced through the whirling blades of light. Back and ever back they pressed the Light-dragon. “What sort of f-ing weapons are ''those?” she yelped, trying to put up shields of solid light. It was horribly jolting to hear such modern obscenities from a fantastic and even medieval creature. “Weapons forged by the Stars, wedded to their users.” said Ronnie. The Light-dragon moved at the speed of light. The Children were sent flying as by a thunderbolt; only the reflexes of their weapons protected them from her claws and blades. Forest lifted his paintbrush and began to paint. The Light Dragon slammed into view, painted motionless. Her mouth tried to work. Her eyes tried to twitch. “Vanessa!” the voice of Ronnie roared. “Look upon my eyes, and gaze into their depths!” The dragon’s eyes met those of Ronnie Wendy. So bright burned the red flame in them it lit the leaden town a ghastly scarlet. Dragon-spell strove against the revealing power. Slowly her eyes wavered, horror mounting in them. She shrank. Her tail and limbs writhed and retracted. A girl stood there, gold hair lank and filthy her only covering. Forest looked away. The girls stared in horror and pity. Ronnie didn’t notice: all his will was bent upon her eyes. She began to scream. Torment distorted her face like the faces of the damned. And she fell down dead upon the stones. “Someone cover her.” said Ronnie, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. Lara drew a sheet of opaque ice over the pitiful body. “I knew her.” Brooke was saying blankly. “She was my friend. I knew her.” “What on earth '' did you '' do to her?” Lara wanted to know. Ronnie’s eyes, bleared and bruised with tiny flecks of red dotting the bagged skin beneath them, looked into hers. “I revealed her to herself.” “Oh my God.” whispered Travel. “She had no God in her.” Ronnie croaked. “She could not bear it. The knowledge killed her.” “Ronnie, you are a…very terrible person, did you know that?” said Lara tartly. “Travel, take us into the arch.” said Ronnie. All around them the darkness was stirring. They no longer needed the corners of their eyes to see them. Shapes dimly guessed at, the very guessing of which made their blood go cold, moved in the shadows. Outlines of houses began to fluctuate. “Quickly.” he added. Blue shadows flashed in their eyes, and then they stood just before the arch. Like a pit yawned the head of the great winding slope of jagged rubble, lit from underneath with an eerie orange light. The air rising from it was perceptibly warmer, and it bore a weird pungency, like hot metal and burnt hair. Down the stones they sprang. The wan opening behind them swarmed with shadowy shapes. Lara whirled and sealed it with a blast of icy lightning. Entombed in the huge spiky iceball were shapes out of nightmares, which were too queer to identify yet froze the heart to glimpse. Then Travel had teleported them to the bottom of the rockslope, and the hideous forms could no longer be seen. The orange glow beat up from a fountain of water in the center of a great ledge under the city. Beyond it, lit for a great distance, were falling abysses, cliffs and ledges, possibly vast drops such as would overthrow the mind that gazed too long down into them. It was very queer water, for besides its’ bright orange luminosity it seemed somehow thicker than water ought to be. Twenty dragons that were gazing into its’ depths looked up, in time to be sliced into pieces by ice and blades of water and teleported asunder. Travel transported them to the brink. “Ooh…” she moaned at the first glimpse. She swayed. Quickly the others grabbed her and helped her to a seat. “I’m sorry,” she kept saying over and over, “I don’t know what came over me. I’m not usually scared of heights.” Ronnie and Forest whirled, scanning the stark orange recesses of the chasm. Above their heads was the floor of the city, a great jagged roof of several immense hills of cracked rock leaning on each other. “There!” Ronnie’s voice cracked. His eyes were still puffy, but his energy seemed to have returned. “I see him.” said Forest. Coiling serpents of flame-colored vines leaped out of the stones, dragging into view a large struggling dragon. It had blue scales, with a belly of gold, and paler bands of blue upon its’ legs; its’ wings, beating uselessly, were gold and red. “Dragon-spell.” said Ronnie. “You’ll be all right in a few minutes.” The dragon glowed blue and vanished. “There!” shouted Travel, pointing. All of them whirled to face it. The dragon had appeared behind the fountain. It froze, dashing against them like a shower of knives. Every shard turned to vapor as Lara acted. Out of the dragon a steady blast of blue light was coming: ice-power. But Lara was catching the power-beam with one hand, absorbing it into herself. “Nice trick, little girl.” the dragon’s voice mocked. It was cocky and boastful, a human voice save for the frozen edge to it. “But I am too strong for such things. That bolt was aimed for Ronnie.” “I know you, Dave, though I never saw your face.” said Ronnie. “Yeah, you walked off with my girl, didn’t you, got her to dump me, gave her a little magic umbrella to keep her safe. Wouldn’t you like to know how that worked out?” “What did you do to her?” said Ronnie, his voice ominously quiet. “That umbrella wasn’t enough, loser-face.” the dragon Dave sneered. “I took her. I this point he grew so explicit and crude the words refused to register in their heads, cutting like barbed knives. Oh, she can be such a little whore when she gets hot.” “Don’t Ronnie.” said Lara. “Even the earth is vulnerable to frost. And he is not of the Stars.” The dragon laughed as he breathed ice again, greater than before. But it swerved as Lara drew it into herself. Greater and greater grew the ice-blast, but still it vanished into Lara’s hand without effect. “Keep breathing, Ice Dragon.” she said in a passionless voice. “I am greater than you. You generate cold…but I am the cold.” The dragon was beginning to look alarmed. He was unable to stop breathing ice. Lara was sucking it out of him faster than his icy body could produce it, drawing it from his bones and his blood. He gave a gargled cry; he began to shrink and change, until he was no longer a dragon, but a man on all fours, and he was naked. The girls grimaced and looked away; so did the boys. It was not just his exposure that nauseated them; it was the sight of what was happening to him. Lara was withdrawing all cold from his body. His skin flushed red. His eyes bulged. His breath came short and gasping. Sweat poured from him like rain, and the sour steamy smell made the girls cough. Then the sweat slowed. Patches of white began to appear, and spread, until he was as pale as a sheet and every breath was a struggle. He writhed on his belly. His tongue, swollen and dark red, slowly crept from his open mouth. Then with a sudden '' whomp'' he spontaneously combusted, and burned like a torch; he could not cry, for he had breathed in flame. A queer half-pleasant odor of cooked human meat, not unlike steak, rose to their nostrils; quickly followed by an overwhelming stench of burnt meat and melting animal fat. Travel seized them in her power and they teleported to the bottom of the abyss. “Lara.” said Ronnie dryly as they reappeared, “you are a very terrible person.” “Why, thank you so much.” she said sweetly. “You ought to be grateful.” “Yes, I daresay having to do another Stare so soon might be a bit much.” he agreed. “Oh, shut up, you know you wanted to kill him yourself.” Ronnie nodded gravely. “I did.” he said. “Thank you, Lara.” The bottom of the abyss was filled with a cold blue light, making the white rock rising up on every hand to the feet of the vast ragged cliffs, look like they were in a cave of ice. No gleam of the fountain reached this far down. In one slope was a gap between two huge toes of rising cliff; and up from it breathed a stronger and steamier smell. No other opening was visible. Lara shed a beam of light into it. It struck nothing. Forest leaned in and reported that it opened on a vast nothingness. “All right, Mr. Leader,” said Lara brightly, “what should we do now?” “Time for Forest’s magical hovering platform rides, two dollars a ticket, step right up.” said Ronnie with a half smile. “Wait.” said Forest. “There’s something…carved over the mouth.” “It must be spell-concealed.” muttered Ronnie. “Even I cannot see it. Paint it for me.” Doing so, they realized at once that these were different letters entirely. Not runes, nor Elf-letters, but a harsh angular alphabet that looked vaguely like Greek. “Phoenician…or even older.” Ronnie mused. A red light flickered in his eyes. “It reads: ''A house there is that sees no sun '' ''dark-builded on the beaches dun '' ''where cold waves wash the Deadly Shore '' ''and northward looks its’ shadowy door; '' ''the louver poisoned rain lets fall '' ''of woven serpents in the wall.” '' “Is that what lies within there?” quavered Bell. “Perhaps…perhaps not.” said Ronnie. “Still, it won’t hurt to be on guard.” Forest painted another platform and they strapped themselves in. They floated down through the mouth and into the black cavern underneath. Lara shed a mightier light than before, till she looked as radiant as a star. It lit up a land of bones. Far, far beneath them, white bones of gigantic creatures lay in ordered rows. Some were mostly manlike, bipedal, with one or more arms; but others were monstrous, legs and arms in insane positions like the anatomy of a nightmare; some with no heads but a mouth of teeth between long arms, some with only one eye-socket in their deformed skulls; some had several faces at mutated angles, some had plural heads, and worst of all one had his head growing from his pelvic cage, like an obscene growth. They must have been like walking cliffs when they stood erect. “What on earth…” whispered Lara. “Oh no.” muttered Ronnie. “Oh no. Now I know where we are.” “Where?” said Bell. “Tartarus.” he whispered. “This is the prison of the Titans. We have to get through here fast.” “What’s the hurry?” said Lara, craning over the side. “They’re all dead.” “No,” said Ronnie. “They are not.” The hovering platform, which could only move up or down, stopped. The light of Lara filled the immense chamber from end to end. “Yes, in my book bones are usually dead.” she retorted. “Look closer.” said Ronnie. “There, on that one-eyed skull. Do you see it?” All of them peered down at the skull directly under them. “Do you see that red fuzz, like an eerie mold? It is growing. Flesh is bubbling out of their bones, growing thicker, spreading like fungus. The nearness of their Lord is bringing the Frost-giants back to life.” “Can we stop them?” said Lara. “No.” said Ronnie. “Their life is part of the bones of the Earth. Unless the very Earth were to be destroyed, not even your Cold could retard their growth.” Shivering, Lara illumined the miles of Tartarus, seeking for a way past. Far below them the red flesh like fungus spread over the bones of the giants, slow but inevitable. She made out at last a deeper pit within the pit, and there Travel took them. As they had hoped it was a vertical shaft, winding like a drain down into the depths of the world. 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